The Girl Called Alice
by evilvampbeauty
Summary: The story of Alice Cullen
1. Preface

The Girl Called Alice

"The future is called "perhaps," which is the only possible thing to call the future. And the only important thing is not to allow that to scare you." –Tennessee Williams

Preface:

The future is tricky and ever-changing. It is never certain what is going to happen, especially when it comes to people. I should know. The future is what brought me to this dark, dark place. The future is not set in stone, like some like to believe. You can change your own path. Sometimes, though, your plan may not go how you expected. Someone will make a snap decision, rearranging everything. Things get messed up. That is most likely why I didn't see death, if you'd like to call it that, right under my nose. I didn't see a lot of things. That's why I'm here. I didn't see them coming. I didn't see him coming.


	2. Chapter 1

A/N Hey, here's Chapter One of The Girl Alice. The words in italic are memories, and will appear at the start of a few chapters. Thanks, and sorry if it's terrible.

Chapter 1

Flashback

August 25, 1909

It's hot outside, much too hot for August. I'm eight and three quarters. I was sleeping when I abruptly woke. I sat up in bed, before my sight blurred. Important visions did this sometimes, wake me, but not often. It only happened twice before, and with deadly consequences.

The vision was of my mother. She was walking down the staircase, dusting the banister and the family photos on the wall. I watched as a man in darks clothes crept down the hallway. I didn't recognize the man. I had never seen him in my life. He was holding something it his hand. It glinted when the light reflected off of it. He stalked towards my mother. He lifted his arm a tad. He was holding a knife. I wanted to scream, oh how I wanted to scream. I couldn't. I don't have control of my visions. In the back of my mind I knew it was a vision, but it seemed so real. Too real. The man stalked toward my mother. I didn't know how she didn't hear him, but then I realized something. She was listening to the radio. My mother loved to listen to it too loud. The man continued towards her. He was right behind her. He raised his arm, then lowered it fast as lightning. I closed my eyes and spun around. All I could hear was the blood-curdling scream coming from my mother.

I opened my eyes to find myself still in my bed. I was sweating and still sitting up. It was dark out of my window. I checked the little pocket watch I kept on the bedside table between Cynthia and my beds. It said it was only 3:32. There was no way I could go back to sleep. I saw Cynthia stir in her bed. She turned over and looked at me. "Alice, what's wrong?" she asked sleepily.

"It's.. It's nothing. Go back to sleep, Cynthia." My voice sounded off. I hadn't notice I was sobbing. Cynthia sat up and looked at me. There was enough light coming in from the window to know I looked terrible.

"Did you have a bad dream?" I thought about this for a second. I could never tell the truth. She sounded so innocent and child-like. She was only six. I could never tell her that what I saw was going to happen, and not just a silly old nightmare. I could only wish for that.

"Yeah, sort of." Without another word, she swung her feet over the side of her bed and walked over to mine. She motioned for me to scoot over. I did as she asked, not wanting to argue. She curled up in bed beside me while I sobbed into her hair. We stayed like that for the rest of the night.

_End Flash back_

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><p>It's dark. It's always dark in this place. I can hardly see anything at all. I'm one of the lucky ones. I'm still here, whether that's a blessing or a curse. It's hard to tell. I guess that means there's hope of getting out, I'm not dead, but then again, I'm not dead, and sometimes I want to be. What did I, the eldest daughter of a middle class family, do to deserve this horrid place. I was only ten when they took me away from my parents, home, and sister, Cynthia.<p>

Cynthia is three years younger than me; she's thirteen to my sixteen. I think about her often, what's been going on in her life. Before I got here I sent Cynthia to live with a cousin, a cousin my father didn't know about. Her name was Winifred. She was eighteen at the time and had one little daughter named Margaret. She lived in Missouri. She was my mother's sister's daughter. Mother's sister died before Mother met Father, and she had never told him about her. There was no reason at all to bring it up. Also, Mother wanted a safe house for me, just in case. Mother knew about my visions, and tried to protect me. Winifred would've helped me. It was wasted in the end though.

You see, when I first found out Father was a murderer, I got Cynthia on a train. I was having strange visions, all in which ended badly, so I packed Cynthia's bag. I scrounged up enough money for one one-way ticket to Missouri. All of my savings and some money a friend who vaguely knew about my problems gave me for emergency. I phoned Cousin Winifred to tell her that Cynthia was on her way, and then sent her off. Cynthia was only a bit older than eight, and hardly knew what was going on. She did know that there was danger and she listened to my warnings. I hardly had time to watch as the train went away, taking my beloved sister with it.

Then I ran straight to our other cousin's house, but they sent me away. They still blamed me for the death of their son. I only predicted it, not cause it. When I had no place to go, I went to the town marshal, only to find that my father had beaten me there. That's when they shipped me off here, the Biloxi Insane Asylum. The sheriff grumbled the whole time how I should be burned for witch craft.

Yes, I could have gotten to the marshal first. Yes, I could have gone off to Cousin Winifred's. I could have, but I didn't. I didn't because of Cynthia. I was wanted. If I was caught there, Cynthia and Cousin Winifred could have gotten into trouble. It was better for just me to suffer than them too. I cannot find myself to regret those decisions. I am the crazy one, not them.

Sitting here in the dark, I thought about how hungry I was. They scarcely fed us here. I was sickly skinny. My long, black hair was all matted, and I wished I could brush it. I tried to comb my fingers through it with no avail. I just let it hand there. My hands and arms were dirty and my fingernails were just stubs. I was truly ugly. I was much too short. I wish I had a new dress, but I was stuck in my old one. I didn't have any shoes to my name. All I wanted was to feel pretty.

Just then, the man who brought me my food opened the large door. I despised him and I didn't even know his name. He was raggedy and didn't bother to clean up. He looked at us like we were animals, and acted like it too. That is what we probably looked like, the crazy ones at least. He glared at me when he walked in, like he just hated being in my presence. I'm not even sure why exactly he took this job if he hates it so much. Then again, only I knew one sick, twisted reason for his staying. He was carrying a large pot and a ladle. He took the ladle and filled it with the mush in the pot. I scrambled over to him. He was about to give it to me when he smirked. "Beg for it," he said, his voice sounding like gravel. "Go on, if you're that hungry. I want you to beg for it." I got down on my knees and folded my hands. He stared at me.

"Please, Sir. P pa please give me some food. I'm hungry." I hadn't talked in so long my voice sounded wrong. He laughed.

"Pa pa please sir," he said mimicking me. "I I I'm sooo hungry." He laughed again. Just a few years ago, I would have said something smart back at him, but I was truly too hungry. "Alright then," He said getting bored. I just prayed he would leave this time. Normally. Normally he didn't. I gulped.

He got a ladle full of the mush and dumped it in the floor. I scrambled too it and scooped it off the floor with my dirty hands. Then I ate it. Words couldn't describe how repulsive it was, but words couldn't describe my hunger. He dumped more of it on my head and laughed. Then thankfully, he left.

A/N Hey, hope you liked this first chapter. I am seriously disgusted just writing this. If it wasn't one in the morning I would probably punch through a wall. I will try to upload soon, but how about some votes and comments to encourage me? Haha, thanks –Alice 3


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Flashback

August 25, 1909

When I awoke, I was tired. My eyes felt strange from crying so much. Cynthia was already up and out of bed. The morning light was shining through the thin, white curtains on the window. I slowly jumped off the bed and went to the closet. I took of my nightgown and slipped on my blue and white dress. I fumbled with the strings but managed to tie them. I slipped on my shoes, brushed through my long, midnight black hair and walked downstairs. My mother was in the kitchen, humming and flipping pancakes. I sat down at the table.

"Good morning, Alice. Did you sleep well?" My mother's name is Catherine. She doesn't look a thing like me or Cynthia. She's much prettier with her wavy golden hair and her large blue eyes. The only thing we have in common is our slim figures.

"No." She turned around to look at my face, which I am sure looked a mixture of horrified and depressed. "Alice, what's the matter?" "I shook my head. "Mary Alice, tell me what is wrong."

"Momma, you're gonna die," I choked out. I started to sob again. Her face fell and she looked concerned. She dropped the spatula in her hand and rush over to me. She gathered me in a hug. I cried her apron that smelt of her perfume.

"Shh, baby. Tell me, did you have a vision?" I nodded. "Are you sure it wasn't a dream?"

"No, I know the difference." My mother is the only one who knows about my visions. She's the only one. "There was a man. You were dusting on the stairs and he came and…" I started to cry again.

"Shh. It will be okay, alright? I'll be okay. Don't you worry about me."

"You'll be careful, won't you?"

"Yes of course I will." And I believed her.

End Flashback

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><p>I don't know what the time was when I awoke. Time doesn't exist here. Or it works differently. I can never tell morning from noon from night. I just can't tell. No matter the time it is dark and I can't hardly see. No matter. It doesn't matter.<p>

I'm still hungry. I can eat a lot and still feel starved. I'm too thin. It's not like before, no. Before I was a good thin. Now I'm skin and bones. My head always hurts from the constant hunger and there is nothing I can do to stop it. I curl up and hug my legs. It's cold, also. I am lucky though, I have a blanket. It's thin and unraveling, but it's a blanket.

I'm considered a permanent resident here, marked as incurable. That means that I get a slightly smaller cell, or room as they like to call it. They always try to make things better than they really are. Oh, no. They're not killers in their minds, but doctors. They help people, and it's not their fault when they don't survive. It's our fault. Along with the larger cell, I get first dibs on the small amount of donations this hell hole gets, like the blanket. They're mostly from families who still care or old ladies on death's doorstep and feel they need to do good.

There's only one other person who's been here longer than I have. It's a girl. Her name is Lucy Karens. She's been here since she was eleven, and she's eighteen now. Like me, she has an actual gift, or curse. Like me she is not crazy. Lucy can communicate through her mind, I can hear her thoughts and she can hear mine, but only if she listens. I was fourteen or fifteen when she first talked to me. She had heard about me in a workers thoughts and was impressed by my years. So she searched for me.

Scared me to death when I first heard her. I thought I had gone mental. She explained her gift, and we talked for a while. I found out that Lucy has brown hair and green eyes, and she is tall. We don't talk a lot, maybe a few times since the first. The last was maybe weeks or months ago, I'm not sure. I could ask her the date or the time or the year, but I don't want the answers.

It's not unusual for the long periods of time in-between. I know that she doesn't like to talk and neither do I. It'll give us both headaches, but we do it to keep sane. Knowing that someone is there is always nice. We've both told each other our stories and we understand.

Lucy comes from a large family. She's the third child of five children; Katrina, Albert, Lucy, Sarah, and Henry. At least, as far as she knows. Her mother was pregnant when she was taken away. She didn't know she was giving her thoughts away. She wasn't very practiced. Instead of talking aloud she would think and people finally noticed, landing her a spot here, for longer than the most.


End file.
